Of Tapes and Rails

Time erodes every surface it touches
but can also heal,
annealing hot tears into scars.

Wars are not forgotten,
but still time steals
the sheen from the medals
and ribbons.

Time also kills.
I have seen friends die
who joyously ran up a mountain,
again ran down,

leaned over,
held on to their knees
as their breath came hard
and, then, collapsed in the yard,
the long tape broken.

What we remember
are joys that no longer are with us...
the songs once sung,
the names
and the faces that trembled,
and the careless young,
so unable
to believe they can die.

We have reached that track
where the clack
of wheels is distorted.
We play tapes back
not only to remind who we are,
but to alter facts
that appear to us falsely recorded.